


call the night by name

by stephtron312



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, I GUESS THIS IS A FIX IT FIC NOW THANKS EPISODE 4, Oathfamily, Post-Battle of Winterfell, definitely will be fluffy, gentle!jaime and confused!brienne because reasons, in which i attempt to give jaime and brienne a little more happiness and a lot less ambiguity, starts after 8x03 and continues through 8x04, will probably get smutty soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephtron312/pseuds/stephtron312
Summary: “Brienne,” he took a careful step towards her, mindful of the bodies around him.“I do not wish to bathe,” she said quietly. “I do not wish to eat and I do not wish to sleep. Not when so many will never do those things again.” Fresh tears pricked at her eyes, “They were under my command, and I led them to a massacre.”---------Traumatized by what she saw at the Battle of Winterfell and the Long Night, Brienne can't handle the raw emotions and anguish it's stirred in her. For Jaime, however, seeing death's face hour after hour has made him very sure that he can't spend another second hiding his feelings behind decorum and duties. How will the two Knights find their way to each other after the most grotesque battle they ever faced, and will it be as hard as the battle they wage against their own hearts? (Post 8x03 and will go into the events of 8x04. We'll see about 8x05 when we get there!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swore to myself I would never write fic for something as big as Game of Thrones. It's just Too Much. But that battle has had me shook for over 24 hours and I need some kind of release. A half of bottle of wine later and this is what I've managed to spill out. I might add more to it! But also might just cry for the rest of the week because they love each other SO much and I am broken. (Also this has only been beta'd by my own drunk brain so there's that.)

_It never hurts to give thanks to the local gods  
You never know who might be hungry_  
\- "Younger" by The Mountain Goats

\----------

Blood dampened her hair against her temple, neck, and cheek. Her back against the wall, Brienne stared out at the sea of dead in front of her. They blurred in her vision, exhaustion and fear pricking the corner of her eyes with tears. The dead had dropped and just as suddenly her adrenaline vanished, replaced by a bone deep tiredness that turned her mind blank.

She found the strength to turn her head. To the right was a stone wall, the same cool steadiness that held her back. To the left was Jaime. His chest heaving beneath the armor he wore.

“Jaime,” she whispered, unsure if the word actually slipped out of her mouth or not. His head turned, green eyes alive and staring at her. 

“ _Jaime_ ,” she repeated, her body turning, arm outstretched toward his.

His sword arm reached towards hers until she latched onto his wrist with her left. Her grip on Oathkeeper refusing to loosen, Brienne stepped over bodies and found her way to him. She stood at his side, just slightly above him, tears threatening her until her eyes shut. She pressed her forehead to his, warmth and stench radiating off them both.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, the words choking him as they stumbled from his throat. After an hour, _hours_ , of screaming, their voices were hardly more than scratches. A clatter sounded, and Brienne felt a weight against her sword. Her eyes flew open, looking down frantically, but it was just the twin swords knocking against each other. She let her grip loosen, Oathkeeper falling to the ground. Jaime startled at the sound, his head drawing away from hers until he realized what had happened. Widow’s Wail followed its twin to the ground beneath them.

Jaime’s fingers entwined with hers, and he stared into her sapphire eyes, a warm blue compared to what had been surrounding him during the long, angry night. “You’re alive,” he said, almost astonished as his hand left hers to grip her upper arm, holding her as tight as he could against himself. Jaime was sure he could hear her heart beating beneath the steel he had forged for her. “Brienne,” he whispered against a tuft of hair at the nape of her neck.

“M’lady, _Ser_ ,” a voice squeaked out behind Jaime. Brienne’s eyes flew open, searching Podrick’s face. Broken and bruised but _alive_.

“Pod,” she said, voice breaking with fresh tears. She loosened her grip on Jaime’s armor to reach out towards the squire. Her hand found Pod’s shoulder and she gripped at the soft cloth beneath his armor. Pulling him towards her until Podrick was at Jaime’s back, Brienne refused to let go of either of them, her knuckles on both hands turning white in her need to be as close to them as possible.

She hadn’t even realized she was weeping until the waves of her sobs rocked against Jaime. His right arm slid around her waist, holding her steady to him.

“How many did I los-“ she started to say before biting her own tongue. She let herself sink into Jaime’s armor, her grip on Podrick tightening just before she retched herself away from them both.

“I need to find Lady Sansa,” she almost said with certainty, ending the statement with a stiff sniff. She wiped at the tears that had spilled to her cheeks, a deep breathe held in her chest until she slowly forced it out from her nostrils.

“My brother,” Jaime said. Podrick had already found his back to the wall again, his knees giving way until he had sank to the floor.

Brienne gave him a quick once over before looking to Jaime once more. She never noticed how green his eyes were before, like emeralds, full of sadness and something else she dare not name. “The crypts,” he rasped, assuring her with as much strength as he could, his hand leaving hers as he bent to pick up Oathkeeper. With both swords sheathed she grabbed onto his stump, guiding them both over the bodies they had cut down and the ones that threatened to break them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back with some more!! Honestly, guys, I just freaking love when I can get really hyped up about the media I'm consuming, and s8 has really been doing THAT (even if it is shit for my sleep schedule). I can't estimate how far I'll take this little fic, because I genuinely don't know what I'm doing or where this is coming from, but I am excited to keep writing about these two little idiots (and a few other little idiots too)! Thank you for checking it out :)
> 
> Oh also forgot to mention that the title is from "Younger" by the Mountain Goats off the album In League with Dragons (which is absolutely amazing and you should listen to it).

_How do you soften the thought of carrying coffins?  
We were so alive_  
\- "Coffins" by MisterWives

\------

Sam could not feel his legs. He wanted to get up and flee far from the pile of dead he was stranded upon but he found he couldn’t get his legs to move. Briefly he thought he must’ve been cut on his spine at some point in the fight and was now paralyzed. He tried to look down and examine his legs but his eyes were burning with sweat and muck and tears. He wiped furiously at his eyes and then tried again to move, but his hands slipped on the slick bodies surrounding him when he tried to gain purchase.

“Let me help.” 

A weight lifted from his legs and a golden hand attached to a strong arm was being held in front of him. Jaime pulled Sam up when he grasped his forearm, steadying the young man with his good hand.

“I have to get to the crypts,” Sam said. “My son. _Gilly_.”

Jaime looked to Brienne who waited for them after she deposited the body holding Sam down to the side. Her eyes scanned the courtyard but she looked dull and haunted. He tried to reassure Sam with a smile that came out closer to a grimace, and clapped him on the shoulder. Stepping forward to Brienne he laid two fingers to her wrist, just gently enough to bring her back to him. She looked to him, eyes glancing to Sam before she nodded and continued to lead them to the crypts.

They hadn’t expected to find bodies littering the stairs leading down to the Stark tombs. Jaime could feel Brienne’s panic, knew it the moment she unsheathed Oathkeeper and bolted downwards. His hand held tight around his swords hilt, hoping to all the gods he wouldn’t have to wield it again. His arms were throbbing and the thought alone of another fight made his muscles contract and ache.

As he helped Sam down the stairs (the poor man’s legs were shaking, barely holding him up, but he was determined to see his family) he listened, waiting to hear the slice of Brienne’s blade or her warrior cry. “My lady,” he heard instead, Brienne’s voice softly breaking over the words. When they rounded the corner he could see Sansa Stark crumbled on the ground, her hands clutching Brienne’s as she shook with sobs. Tyrion stood beside her, his hands reassuringly on the girl's shoulders, trying to calm her.

“Brother,” Jaime breathed, dropping to his knees at the sight of his little brother alive and well but the same rattled look in his eyes that were afflicting all the survivors of the crypts. Tyrion looked at Brienne, making sure she had a good hold on Sansa before he left her. He walked, and then ran, to Jaime and they wrapped around each other.

“I was so afraid you would be dead,” Tyrion said, meaning for it to sound like a joke but the waver in his voice could not be hidden. Jaime clutched at Tyrion’s cloak with his one hand tightly, his face buried in the younger man’s shoulder as wretched sobs seized him. 

“Gilly!” Samwell yelped from somewhere behind Jaime. He ran forward, stumbling over a body but catching himself just in time to pick up the small boy that ran to him. He clutched the child in one arm, and then wrapped his other around the wildling girl who placed desperate and unashamedly joyful kisses to his face.

They all watched the happy reunion, and a wave of relief washed over the entire crypt. At least they were all still standing, ready to see a new day with their loved ones.

Sansa stood with Brienne’s help, still clutching her sworn sword’s hands in her own. “You must have fought bravely my lady,” Brienne said, noting the bodies around of the fallen and the long dead and the dragon glass dagger not far from where Sansa had been huddled.

“Not nearly as bravely as you did I’m sure, Lady Brienne.”

“It’s Ser now, actually,” Tyrion said, doing his best to help his brother to his feet. All the strength had left him, and Jaime didn’t even care to wipe the streaks of tears that now mingled with the blood and dirt on his face.

“Oh,” Sansa said with a small smile, watching as Brienne’s tired face caught a blush. “Then, Sers, have you news of my family? Are they alright?”

“And the Queen?” Missandei asked, stepping forward just slightly from where she had been waiting with Varys and the others.

“I”m sorry,” Brienne shook her head. “I cannot tell you much. It was all very dark and a blur and I truly don’t know what happened. It was so hard to keep track of anyone else except…” she trailed off, looking at Jaime. A lump swelled in her throat as she took him in, standing slightly bent over, doing all he could to not collapse from the exhaustion of it all. She had done a damn good job at keeping track of him, and he of her, the entire night. There was not a moment she could remember when he was not at her side, or at her back, following her, fighting with her, saving _her_. He tried to smile at her, to reassure her in some way that she hadn’t forgotten her duties, had done just as she was supposed to. They kept each other alive against all the odds.

Sansa smiled again at her, giving Brienne’s hands a squeeze. “Then I will go find them,” she swallowed, surely steeling herself against the worst scenario. She then looked to the people in the crypts, and turned to the them as their leader and the Lady of Winterfell. “Whoever can,” she began, “Start boiling water and bring as many tubs to the Guest House with clean cloths and soap. We’ll set the Great Hall for the injured, help the Maesters collect their stores and supplies for the wounded. When we’re done, we’ll meet in the Kitchens to begin preparing dinner. Tomorrow we will tend to the dead, but tonight we must care for the living.” 

The survivors of the crypt marched forward with their orders, filing out of the crypt with renewed purpose. Gilly and Sam and their son among them, arms tangled around each other. Before following them out to seek her brothers and sister Sansa turned to Brienne. “There are hot springs beneath the Guest House. They are small so not everyone can use them, but it would relieve your aches and pains. I would send someone to bring you soap and fresh lavender but I don’t think there’s anyone left to spare right now. But you can find some in my chambers, please feel free to use them.”

“My lady, the tubs are fine with me. I’ll bathe with the others.”

“Please, Brienne, you have put your life and limb on the line for me, my family, and my house so many times. Let me repay you in this small way, for now. The hot springs will suit you well.” She smiled at her, softly, but her voice held the command of a thousand queens before her. Her eyes flitted to Jaime, giving him a curt and polite nod before she swept out of the crypt, joining the others above him.

“I should find my Queen,” Tyrion said, touching his brother’s hand once more, before leaving him to join Varys and Missandei outside.

Silence filled the cold, stone walls. Jaime’s fingers fiddled around Widow’s Wail as he fidgeted in place. He was so overwhelmingly tired but at the same time filled with a frantic energy to do whatever was next. He supposed it would be finding whomever was still alive, getting them to the Maester’s and to a bath. He would start with Podrick, he decided and continue from there. Before he could set off on his new mission he looked to Brienne. She was staring at the bodies littered around them. Some were very young.

“Brienne,” he took a careful step towards her, mindful of the bodies around him.

“I do not wish to bathe,” she said quietly. “I do not wish to eat and I do not wish to sleep. Not when so many will never do those things again.” Fresh tears pricked at her eyes, “They were under my command, and I led them to a massacre.”

He wanted to say something to her, the words swirling in his mind but none were quite enough to speak aloud. She was in shock, he knew, and though she was no stranger to a fight, this had been a slaughter.

Her mouth set into a tight line and her voice shaking as she stared at the body nearest to her. “Why should this child be dead, but I shall get to enjoy the hot springs?” She looked at Jaime then, her face twisted in anguish and anger, shaking with a rage he had never seen in her. “You should have let me die,” she said suddenly, and Jaime startled at the vitriol of her voice. She moved passed him quickly, and he let her disappear up the steps. 

A pain pierced his chest more vividly than any blow that landed upon him in the night. As much as he desired to soothe her, Jaime knew that anger, the disgust at surviving and moving forward. Every soldier knew it. Some got drunk after battle, some spent hours in a brothel, and many just needed to be alone. For hours, for days, for weeks. Jaime had sought Cersei in the past. He’d let her demand whatever she wanted from him, losing himself in the selfishness of their own desires. Her control distracted his mind from all he’d seen and all he had lost, allowing him to hide from this feelings of grief and despair. It only helped to move him to the next fight or the next fuck, but it never silenced the ghosts that fell around him completely. 

This time would be different, it had to be. He didn't want to just move past it, and he didn't want that for Brienne either. Maybe though, he reasoned, they could work through it together. After all, he never had someone who truly understood before. Cersei didn't care about what actually happened _on_ the battlefield, only what the fight meant for Lannister pride and power. Tyrion understood strategy, but up until the Battle of Blackwater, he truly didn't understand the horror of it. He'd seen the way that Battle had scarred his little brother, in more than just one way, and he'd never want to bring Tyrion back to relive those moments. 

He had seen every terror in that night that Brienne did, knew the pain of losing brave men (and now women) that followed him onto the battlefield. He knew every emotion she was reeling with, but he couldn't touch them, not just yet.

 _Podrick,_ he focused, moving out into the sunlight from the dark crypts. _I will take care of Podrick and then I will find for her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIKE SHE IS GOING TO BE SO TRAUMATIZED MY BABY!!! And I so want Jaime to be there to help her through it in the show, but if not I'm ready for all the comfort fic imaginable. (Let's be real I am always ready for all the comfort fics, it's my ultimate kink). I wanted to throw in a small mention of Cersei, though it is probably the last time I'll mention her in this fic. I'm just like not interested in exploring that part of Jaime's character, but I did think it was important to talk about his probable previous coping mechanisms which were like super unhealthy. 
> 
> More to come soon!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genuinely did not mean to make this chapter so long and entirely about Podrick. Had no idea I had this many feelings about him and I couldn't stop until I was sure he was safe! Still I would die for Oathfamily and I hope you enjoy this ~~father/son~~ bonding time

_You know I tried, to fight my way out  
Somewhere in this cloud_  
\- "stones around the sun" by Lewis Watson

\------

The face that stares up at him is skeletal. Not thin, or emaciated, or cut open, but an actual skeleton. Podrick isn’t sure how long he’d been staring at it, at least since the two Knights left his side, but he can see nothing else but the hollow bones and scraps of skin hanging off of it. 

If anyone asked him to describe the previous few hours he could not do it. The smell was putrid, the wind was ferocious, and every breath he took was like a sharp dagger to his gut. Not unlike the actual daggers that sliced and stabbed at him. He knew he had seen the flashes of his ladies’ blonde hair in front of him, knew he kept within reaching distance of Jaime’s dark Northern armor, but he couldn’t say what the things he was fighting actually looked like besides death itself. He has no idea how he is still alive.

“Pod?” 

He looks up to see Jaime Lannister climbing over the pile of dead that they had been caught behind earlier. Another skeleton rolls, the wrist crushing beneath Jaime’s heavy boot.

“Can you stand?” he asks, a weird gentleness in his voice that Podrick isn’t used to being directed at him, but had heard him use that tone with others before. He nods but then doesn’t move. Maybe he can’t stand, maybe he’s forgotten how.

“C’mon,” Jaime says, shoving both arms beneath Podrick’s shoulders and hoisting up with much strength. Podrick found his footing somehow but was like a ragdoll leaning against Jaime’s armor. It felt cold and slick against his cheek.

He allowed Jaime to pull him forward out of the corner that they had been backed to, and glances around at the rubble that was once Winterfell’s courtyard. 

The Unsullied leader has his arms wrapped around Missandei, her beautiful face glistening with tears as she runs her hands over every part of Grey Worm she can touch. Lord Tyrion and Varys are walking past them, eyes turned to the sky looking for dragons and their Queen. Jon Snow staggers into the courtyard, hoarsley calling after Sansa, her red hair swinging gracefully as she turns back. A puff of breath leaves her mouth as she stares at him in stunned, happy silence and he takes her in his arms in a great hug. Tormund and Gendry stands upon a pile of dead so high Podrick cannot see over it. The last of the Baratheon's hands are on his knees as he strains to regain his breathing, but every inhale sends the smell of rotting corpse into his nose and he hacks and spits onto the pile below him. Lyanna Mormont’s small body lays just to the bottom of that pile, her armor crushed and half her skull missing.

Podrick leans forward, and Jaime is afraid the boy is about to collapse. He vomits directly onto Jaime’s boots.

“I’m sorry, Ser,” he says between retches, his body trembling, tears streaming down his face.

Jaime tries his best to soothe him, to stop his sick long enough to get him moving into the Great Hall so a chain reaction doesn’t begin. He rubs Podrick’s back, “Not to worry. Let’s get to the Maester’s.”

By time Jaime has dragged Pod to the Great Hall the Maester’s of the Northern houses are already working on the injured. While the Maester’s perform their examinations a few of the women and children Jaime had seen in the crypt are gathering supplies and taking on the task of sewing up cuts, soothing bruises, and on one young Knight of the Vale trying to save a nearly severed leg.

Podrick is shivering again, and before he can bend over Jaime snatches an empty bucket and holds it out in front of him. He is sick for several more minutes, tears streaming down his face and the sound reverberating through the stone walls.

“I’m so sorry,” he keeps saying, and Jaime lets him continue until he has emptied out.

“I was sick too after my first battle,” he tries to reassure the squire, and Pod looks up at him with eyes shining from tears and a leaking nose. Jaime looks around again, taking a cloth off a pile one of the women had gathered near him. He hands it to Pod who rubs his face a bit too harshly.

He is still shaking, but Jaime hopes it is from the shock of it all and not an infection. “You need to get out of this armor so we can see if you’re hurt.” Podrick nods but moves only his mouth as he tries to swallow down the next round of sick. Jaime helps Pod get down to his linens, noticing a deep red patch covering Pod’s right shoulder. He tries to pull up the shirt to see the injury when Pod pulls away from him.

“There are women and children here,” he says, now oddly shy.

“They’re looking at much worse,” he comments, his golden hand gesturing to a young women in meager leather armor with blood pouring out of the side of her face. Two women and three young children surround her, trying to perform surgery on her missing eye. Still, he tries to catch the attention of a Maester who is giving a list of to the girl that he remembers Samwell Tarly had his arms around. The Maester sees him but turns away.

“Dammit,” Jaime mutters, leaving Podrick on the bench they had been sharing and takes long, angry strides towards the man in black robes. Someone knocks into him as the Great Hall is getting more crowded with injuried and the sick being deposited all over the room. He needed to get Pod help now before they got too overwhelmed.

“Sorry, Ser,” the softness of Gilly’s voice was so jarring among the moans and retches and screams. 

“He’s hurt,” Jaime said brushing off her apology and clutching at Gilly’s shoulder. He tries to direct her towards where Podrick is still seated. 

Gilly looked around, unsure which of the many people Jaime was talking about. “Someone will be by soon,” she said, trying to appease Jaime and get back to her own task of gathering the ingredients the Maester had instructed her to.

 _“Please,”_ Jaime said, every ounce of desperation seeping into his voice. Podrick was not going to survive this long to die of a festering wound because he couldn’t find someone to look at the boy in time.

Gilly nodded, overtaken by the worry etched into every line of Jaime’s face. “Hold this,” she said to another woman at her side, handing off the Maester's list and then followed Jaime. The bench he had left Podrick at had gained other occupants, each bleeding and groaning from somewhere or the other.

Gilly examined beneath Pod’s clothes, the squire shaking all the while. “Nasty gash,” she commented, “But it doesn’t look infected yet.” She leads Pod over to a table where a Karstark soldier is getting a cut over his eye sewed up. She instructs Pod to lay down and leaves to grab a cap of wine and bundle of mandrake root. “Chew this,” she hands the root to Pod and he does so. His hand reaches out to Jaime instinctively as she pours the alcohol over him and his body seizes with pain. Jaime lets Pod squeeze his fingers, almost admiring how strong he had gotten since being in Brienne’s care.

The wildling girl makes quick work of Pod’s shoulder. Just when Jaime is sure one of his fingers will be broken, she’s done. Pod’s hand relaxes in his and Jaime isn’t sure if it’s the root taking effect or because the worst is over. 

“Here,” she says, handing a Jaime a small vile and a strip of clean cloth. “Milk of the poppy. We don’t have very much but it should help when the root wears off. You need to get him cleaned up and find a place for him to rest. He needs sleep, but he’ll be okay.” She offers them both a sweet smile as Jaime helps Podrick off the table, letting the boy lean into him as they walk together back across the courtyard and to the Guest House.

The long corridor is spotted with tubs and bits of soap left beside them. Chamber doors are left open and filled with more basins for bathing and piles of clean linens. Many of the tubs are being shared between the survivors trying to get the muck and blood off their exposed skin. Jaime pulls Pod further down the hall, until he finds a room that is empty and two young girls just filling a long tub with hot water.

“Get in,” Jaime hurries Pod forward, leaving him to undress as he runs back to grab a clump of soap from one of the already prepared rooms.

Pod is submerged and staring blankly ahead when Jaime arrives. Between the root and the shock he’s unsure if Pod even knows where he is anymore. He tries to hand him the soap but Pod doesn’t do anything but hold onto it.

“Pod,” Jaime pleads, “You have to wash.” 

He nods dumbly, eyes following as the same young girls bring in another tub to fill. Jaime grabs the soap back, dipping it and the cloth into the water. He holds the cloth to the edge of the tub with his right elbow, trying his best to scrub the soap against it until he sees frothing bubbles. He scrubs at Pod’s shoulder, blood and wine still staining the skin around the tender wound.

“I can do it,” Pod says, taking the soap from where Jaime had balanced it at the edge of the tub. Jaime hands him the cloth, sitting back against the wall and watching to make sure Pod actually begins to clean himself. When he does, Jaime lets his eyes slip close for the first time in what feels like days.

It’s a blur of fire and smoke and blood, bones and bodies pressing against him. He can’t breathe when he thinks about their crushing weight and forces his eyes open in a panic.

Pod is still staring straight ahead, his skin much cleaner but the tub absent of the steam that had been rising off it. Jaime must have fallen asleep he thinks, for a few moments. There are two more tubs in the room, both with men occupying them. 

Jaime moves closer to Pod’s tub, taking the cloth and soap from his limp fingers. “Pod?” he asks, and the boy looks at him, eyes a little more lifeless than Jaime feels comfortable looking into.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Jaime prods. He’s seen mandrake root work before, it’s quicker than milk of the poppy, and more intense but doesn’t last very long. He’ll snap out of it soon.

“M’lady, I mean, my Ser,” his face contorts in a slow confusion. “Brienne, I mean. Is she alright?”

Jaime doesn’t know how to answer the question, his eyes roaming over to the window that looks over the back of the Guest House. He picks himself up from the floor, walking over to the pile of linen on the corner and grabs one for Pod to dry off with before he has to put on his old clothes. It seems counterintuitive to have to put on the dirt and blood stained clothes but for now it’s all they can do.

“We’ll get to your quarters Pod, and then you have to sleep.” 

“You didn’t answer my question, Ser,” Pod says after consideration. He’s back in his linen and boots, and holding his armor under his arm. “Is she okay?”  
“She’s not hurt,” he begins, the two walking out of the room as the girls come back in to empty the tub and put it in clean water. “At least I don’t think she is, but she’s not invulnerable either.”

“I know that,” Pod says, and Jaime wonders, not for the first time, what sides of Brienne Pod has seen by now. They had been traveling together for a long time, and though Brienne is stronger and more fiercely independent than most anyone he knows, she’s also sensitive and kind and selfless to a point of annoyance. If anyone else is going to understand how deeply scarred Brienne will be from this it will be Pod, who sees her as the woman she truly is and not just the heroic Knight everyone who so much as glances at her can plainly see.

They reach the chambers Pod had been staying since he and Brienne had arrived at Winterfell. He sits on the bed, letting every ache settle into him, and takes the small vile from Jaime. Pod goes to drink it but then sets it back down on his lap.

“You should rest too, Ser,” he advises looking over Jaime’s haggard appearance. Jaime nods, knowing Pod is right, but knowing there was no way he could find rest feeling as he was. The strain of his muscles pounded against every move he made, but his stomach felt like it was made of acid. There was a hollowness inside of him that no amount of rest or Maester’s would be able to solve.

He watches as Pod downs the milk, tucking himself into the bed and closes his eyes. Hoping that the poppy drifts Pod into a seamless and painless slumber, Jaime pulls the door shut. He passes quickly through the corridor, back again across to the Guest House and moves around to the back of the long building. Long, crooked steps lead down to a cave beneath, where the sound of running water can be heard in the silence, but is drowned by the sound of aching sobs coming from the Godswood. 

Jaime approaches, his stomach twisting with nerves and what tastes like fear as he continues down them into the cave of the hot springs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll see Brienne again next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who else felt personally victimized by 8x04?? I certainly did, at first, but the more I've thought over the episode and rewatched it (several times), the more I understand and even enjoy it (SHOCKING I KNOW!). I think my greatest frustration were the things left out, cut for time since this season is so short, and not given the space to breathe that would have allowed more of an emotional impact in that final Braime scene instead of just making me feel broken for my sweet brave girl and manipulated by the show. I didn't know where I was going to take this fic after 8x04 but I think I'll be continuing it and working with the beats the show gave us (yes even that last scene) and adding the things that were missing in between.
> 
> Warnings and tags will be updated as it goes!

_I’m barely getting by  
Between two separate worlds_  
\- “Hard on Myself”, Hemming

\----------

She sat against the stony cave wall, knees bent and legs spread, Oathkeeper in hand as she laid the lion head pommel against her lips. Brienne had been seated in that position since she left the crypts. She truly hadn’t meant to wind up in the hot springs, but she felt the same pull to be alone that she would feel as a child being forced into sewing and dancing lessons. She didn’t want to worry about what she was supposed to be doing or saying or seeming like, she just wanted to listen to the waters rush against the rocks and forget everything that happened in the past day or so.

She knew she should be helping but couldn’t bring herself to move. What was her servitude worth when the ones she was supposed to be watching over were dead. Stand your ground, she had yelled to her men, but it was an impossible task. She never wanted to be a leader, wanted her mistakes to be hers and hers alone, and now she had the blood of a hundred good soldiers on her hand. And the blood of the innocent. Seeing the dead in the crypt was like reliving the night all over again. She was wholly unprepared to see the eyes of children staring open and unseeing, blood framing their faces. She couldn’t shake the image of it, the unnecessary death of an innocent girl. War was one thing but this was something else. 

The lion’s head pricked against her lips, chapped by the winter winds of the North. Most days Oathkeeper felt entirely hers, in the way its weight felt in her hands, the way the sword moved with her arm. No one else could ever wield it as she did. There were times though when she really looked at it and all she saw was Jaime Lannister’s face, eyes wide and mouth parted, as he bestowed it upon her.

She had never been near so fine a weapon, crafted with delicacy and care. Tarth was a noble house and she grew up with all the fineries but Valyrian steel was hard to come by. Her sword was supposed to be a Lannister heirloom, but had been in her hands for years. Being so tied to the Lannisters never really bothered her, but it did make her pause on some occasions. The Hound acted like she was a part of them just by her armor alone. He never realized that the lion heads decorating her skirts were peppered with Tarth’s sunburst.

The armor, the sword...it was what she needed to get to Sansa (and Podrick too, though she was loathe to admit it for many months). But it was also a gift, a thank you for something she had given to Jaime along their journeys off the Kingsroad that she never quite understood. He had saved her, more than once, and what had she done besides see him? 

When memories of those long days together bubbled up, Brienne did her best to abandon them to the recesses of her mind. Then she watched him stand before Sansa and the Dragon Queen, saying every wrong word and she couldn’t take it any longer. She had barely been breathing while she defended him, her whole body felt like it had been set on fire, but she also knew that in the moment she would have died for him. If swords were drawn, her hand was not far from Oathkeeper’s neck and she would’ve fought all the Northern lords to prove Jaime was a good man.

Maybe that was why she focused so entirely during the Long Night that he stay alive. She had heard his cry from across the battlements and it wasn’t even a question in her mind that she needed to get to him. Her body acted of its own accord, cutting down anything in her path until she reached him. _Who would want to die defending a Lannister?_ She had asked once. And yet, when the dawn broke, seeing him breathing, _alive_ and whole, was the greatest relief she ever felt.

She truly loved him, she thought angrily, and it should have been the death of her. There were children scattered among the dead, no older than she was when she first picked up a sword, and the guilt she felt at living in their place was overwhelming. _Why them and not me?_ She asked incessantly. Only one clear answer came to her mind. _Jaime._

Like the Stranger’s greatest trick she heard armor clanging at the cave’s entrance to her left. She refused to look up, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could, Oathkeeper biting into her lips.

“Brienne,” his voice was so soft that if she had been ten years younger she would have wept at the idea of anyone as beautiful as Jaime Lannister treating her with such gentleness.

She said nothing, holding her sword as tight as possible and letting tears bite at her eyes, the steam of the hot springs filling her with every long breath she took in. She didn’t want him to know just how exposed she was. 

“Are you alright my lady?” he said, continuing down the staircase. She had been called _my lady_ by a thousand faces but when he said it something squirmed in her. 

Brienne said nothing. She marked his advances by his footfalls, holding her eyes closed until his steps were beside her. 

“The night has almost come again,” he remarked, his Northern armor sliding down the stone wall beside her, echoing off the walls as she had hours earlier.

“And?” she asked impatiently.

“You’ve been here a long time,” he remitted, “and yet, you’ve not bathed.”

“And what have you been doing, _Ser_?” she said, the final word coming in through venomous means.

“Not much,” he subsided, a sigh following the words. She wanted very much to be drunk then, for the heaviness of wine to intervene and make it impossible to open her eyes to him. But there he was, every bit a lion and every bit as broken as she. The blood that stained his cheek and jaw was new to her and she desired so much to reach out to it.

“I did,” he continued, “help Podrick find sleep, and bring the Greyjoy boy to the Stark crypts. I would have been here earlier, but your ladies’ sobs were too depressing.”

“Pod,” Brienne finally allowed herself a modicum of selfishness, “Is he okay?”

“Yes,” Jaime said, looking at her a bit longer than she would have liked, before turning to admire the three pools before them. “He is suffering greatly, but the Maester’s allowed him some milk of the poppy. Hopefully he’ll sleep through the night.”

She nodded in agreeance, but kept her sullen glare steady on the lion’s face. “Brienne,” he tried once more, staring straight at her with his emerald eyes. 

He began, with one hand, to undo the ties of her armor. 

“I can do it myself!” she commanded but Jaime persisted. His one hand moved to her shoulder attempting to make quick work of her armor straps.

Tears fell to her cheek as he began to remove the left shoulder piece. 

“I let them die,” she said in the quiet. 

“Death is always a possibility in war. Everyone chose to fight. You didn’t do anything any other commander wouldn’t have.”

“The children didn’t choose.”

“I know,” he admitted, his breath skating across her cheek as he had to use his teeth to work the straps. “That’s not on you, though. It’s on us all.”

The left piece lifted, he moved around her to the other side, working on the right. 

“I followed you here, _Ser_ Brienne. I chose to fight under you. And I would choose to do so again and again and again,” he emphasized the new title, hoping it would bring her back to that feeling of knowing she was worth every stitch of honor and virtue that Knights were supposed to possess. She closed her eyes again, tightly, but it didn’t stop the tears.

His golden hand weighed his right arm down onto her lap, and her eyes blinked open at the sudden gravity of it holding her in place. It must have been very heavy. She laid Oathkeeper down gently beside her and took the gold piece into her own hands. Jaime stalled for just a moment, trying to catch her eye but she was too concentrated on his false hand, so he continued to pull at the straps on her right shoulder with his fingers and teeth.

Carefully, Brienne unstrapped the hand from his forearm. The skin was bruised and raw, inflamed with new cuts from where the material rubbed against him. She began to trace soothing circles across his wrist, mindful not to make it any worse. He had never been touched so gently, and especially not on his stump. It stopped his breath.

Jaime continued to remove the armor, though he was loathe to move his arm from her touch. “Help me with this last piece,” he said, his voice a whisper amongst the darkening cave. She moved forward, helping him remove the bulk of the armor. Without a word she found the clasps to his armor, unhinging them with the same gentleness she showed his arm. Both without armor, Brienne turned away from him to remove her linens. Her tunic went first, and then she scooted out of her pants, leaving her naked against the cold rock. Jaime tried not to stare at the tough ropes of muscle that outlined her back, but he was already lost in the slight curve at her hip. Her shivering brought him back to the moment.

“The water will be warm,” he said, his voice soft as he hoped it would nudge her towards the water. She was still shy with her nakedness, not unlike she had been the first time he had seen her. One arm wrapped around her breast she stood slowly. He turned away from her there, giving her some privacy until he heard the water splash around her, waves tracing against her collarbones and shoulders as she looked back at him.

“You are filthy, Ser,” she said, her tone too gentle to be mocking. 

He didn’t want to intrude on her, to scare her away, so he turned his back and tried to slink out of his small clothes. It was difficult with one hand and muscles that burned with the fight they had endured. He walked to the second of three pools angling away from her to try and preserve some amount of privacy.

“No,” she said suddenly, her face turning pink as the words left her mouth. “Come into this one, if you want to.”

For a woman of her height and stature, Jaime thought she looked so small in the corner of the pool. Like a maiden in a knight’s tale, her face was red as he approached, refusing to meet his eye as he dipped in.

The water instantly soothed him, the heat working on his muscles already. An involuntary noise escaped his throat. Brienne allowed herself to relax, just slightly, focusing on the feel of the water around her skin, the mineral scent stifling down the anxious burning in her gut. She dipped down further, letting the water lap up to her ears and her eyes closed softly. Small waves rippled as she rolled her shoulders, and then her neck, twisting her body in the water and reveling in the weightlessness.

She heard the splash of Jaime’s movements, and opened her eyes to see him approaching her. His arm was outstretched, a bit of soap held in his palm.

“I didn’t think to take two,” he shrugged, their fingers brushing together through the waves as he passed it to her.

She scrubbing her shoulders, her long arms, her face and neck and collarbones. She dipped beneath the water and scrubbed at her legs and torso, scratching every inch of her until it felt raw and new.

She turned from him once more, moving an arm up to try and reach her back, twisting in an awkward position. Cuts and bruises peppered her skin, and they stung but the pain felt good.

“May I?” Jaime offered, putting his hand on her wrist to stop her bending every which way to try and get at her back. “You’re going to give yourself a cramp, and if you pass out in here and Lady Sansa sees me with you, she’ll probably have my head.”

She blushed again, the red rising all the way to her ears and he couldn’t help but smile at her chasteness. Such a brutal woman and yet so sweetly innocent. A knight and a maid all wrapped into one. He let the soap pass over her shoulder blades, her back trembling when his fingers brushed against her skin. _She must be cold_ , he thought.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, her voice a low rumble. Here in the North, here in the bath, here alive, here with her.

He wanted to say so much to her, to thank _her_ for everything she had done for him, had made him see in himself. For saving him from the trial, from the dead, from himself. He couldn’t find the words, didn’t think he’d be able to push them out without choking on them, so he settle a bit away from her and scrubbed at his own body with the bit of soap that was left.

They left the cover of water when it became almost impossible to see in the cave. The sun had long been gone, clouds covering the moonlight that had been refracting off the walls, and neither of them had any candles to light. They dressed in the dark, gathering the armor they didn’t need to bear any longer in their arms. She led the way out of the cave, and began the walk to her chambers.

“Do you know where you’ll sleep?” she asked, her breathe puffing out in the cold. Her hair dripped onto her small clothes, water still clinging to them both in the chill of the North.

He shook his head slightly, “I’m sure Tyrion has space on his floor. If I can find his chambers.”

Brienne nodded, her eyes suddenly not meeting his and Jaime could see she was shying away from saying something else. She almost looked disappointed but for what he didn’t know. “I’ll show you where he’s staying,” she said, turning away from her path and setting off to where Tyrion and the Targaryen council were housed. It was far from Sansa. Far from her.

She stopped at the entrance of the keep, and offered him the slightest hint of a smile.

“I’m almost certain he’s in there,” she said, nodding to where the flicker of candlelight spilled from a window above them.

“Yes,” Jaime smiled, “he doesn’t sleep much. Unless he’s drunk.”

There was a hesitance, keeping them both glued to the spot just beyond the entrance to the keep. The silence between them raked a lump down his throat that he knew would settle heavily on his chest throughout the night. He concentrated on the bruising around her left eye, the purple blooming amidst her pearl skin. Had her skin always been so smooth? _No_ , he thought, _it was just the glow of the moon._

“Ser Brienne. My lady,” he gave a slight bow, intending to go to his brother.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful today,” she said suddenly, bashfully as she dipped her head away from him in the dark. “I just couldn’t face it. Not now.”

“You’ve done enough,” he tried to reassure her, a slight growl in his tone. _All this negativity, she’s starting to sound like me_ , he thought, frustration growing in him.

“I’m not afraid of battle. And I am not afraid of death,” she said, her eyes shining and as big as the starbursts of Tarth’s shield. “But there is something about being alive, right now, that I _am_ afraid of.”

She had never admitted fear to him, and he nodded, choking down the same realization. He too was afraid of _something_ in this night that was so unlike the night before. 

He took her hand in his, brushing her knuckles with the chastest kiss. “We’ll fight that together too, then.” He looked up at her, at the shyness in her cheeks and eyes, and smiled as a dam broke within him. He turned before it surged forward, walking up halfway up the stairs and pausing to listen to her boots crunch the snowy path he had left her on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please come cry with me about these two big dumb dumbs in the comments and/or tumblr (find me at stephanooch)!


	5. Chapter 5

_And I was so mad at the coming of the day  
But I will the monsters all at bay  
And we can believe it’s better this way_  
“Search and Destroy”, Sanders Bohlke

\---------------

“Missed you at dinner,” Tyrion’s voice sounded tired but still carried that signature prancing lilt. “Not that it was much of a dinner. Everyone too exhausted or sick to actually do anything but groan into their stew bowls. I took the liberty of saving you some, though it’s far too cold to stomach by now.” He pointed to the bedside table away from the desk he was sat at pouring over a tome, where a single bowl of plain broth and some meat Jaime was too tired to identify sat.

Jaime dragged himself to the bed, droplets from his hair wetting the furs below him. With a clang his armor and golden hand fell to the floor, stirring Tyrion to look back at him. He had never seen his brother so weary, the dark circles under his eyes making him look haunted, and yet he knew he saw a glint of pride in Jaime’s old green eyes.

Tyrion turned from his seat and hopped off. Two cups tucked under his arm and wine decanter in hand, though there was barely more than a cups worth left, he walked towards his brother..

“You did it again, Ser Jaime,” he smiled, pouring the dark red liquid into a cup and holding it out to Jaime. “You’ve saved the Realm once more.”

A hint of a smile stretched the corner of Jaime’s lips but faded as he shook his head, both to the wine and to his brother’s words. “I was merely a piece of the winning side. A rather small and insignificant part, might I add.”

Tyrion shrugged, filling the rest of of the cup and keeping it for himself. “I don’t think your lady Knight would say that.”

Jaime’s eyes crinkled, somewhere between a glare and confusion. He ignored the statement, turning his attention to the cold broth beside him. He lifted the spoon and it felt heavier than Widow’s Wail. 

Silence passed between the brothers who wanted to ask so much of the other, to make sure the other was really as well as they were pretending to be. To know of the journeys each had made to get to where they were, together. How long had it been since they were both in such easy, casual company? Not since they were children, Tyrion supposed, not since they had a way to escape Cersei’s eyes. Green and poisonous, she would always disrupt when he and Jaime had a moment together, always forcing Jaime to leave his side and go to her instead.

“I don’t remember Lady Stark saying _you_ could enjoy the hot springs,” Tyrion said with a smile as Jaime’s hair continued to drip onto his linens. He removed the bowl and empty cup from the bedside table and placed them on his writing desk. He took another swallow of wine, the last he had, and looked sadly into the empty decanter before setting that down too. 

Jamie opened his mouth to defend himself but closed it just the same. He knew Tyrion was much more clever, and could always see through whatever half bought lie Jaime could come up with.

“Sansa is a fierce woman now, I wouldn’t want her as an enemy,” Tyrion said, a drip of fondness in the way he said his past wife’s name. 

“She already hates me,” he pointed out, and Tyrion nodded in agreement. 

“Then you better never get on Brienne’s bad side, or they’ll all have your head.” Tyrion was smirking at him, but there was an easy joy in it. 

A small scoff escaped Jaime’s lips. “She’d have my head, herself.” 

The image of her once golden armor gleaming in the sun as she tore down three Stark bannerman suddenly entered his mind. It was the first time he had seen her fight, seen her as more than just a towering, stoic being. He knew she was brutal then, and strong in a way he never doubted since. 

Fighting back to back the night before, they moved fluidly. His body reacted to hers in a way he never thought possible, reading her every movement and moving with her lunges and swings. It was unlike any dance he’d had before.

The older Lannister raked his eyes around the room, looking for some extra furs or any soft material he could put on the floor and finally rest on. Moving to push himself off the bed to see if the drawers held something soft inside them, he stopped at Tyrion’s hand on his arm. “You deserve the better rest tonight,” he said, motioning for Jaime to get in under the warm furs. He helped pull the furs back, then gathered Jaime’s armor from the ground piece by piece. Tyrion laid the golden hand atop the drawers in the corner, tucking it next to Widow’s Wail, before turning towards the desk chair. 

Tyrion removed his cloak, placing it over himself like a blanket and tried to settle in as best he could. He listened to the rhythm of his brother’s soft snores, having fallen asleep not even moments after Tyrion helped him settle beneath the heavy furs. It soothed him, though his own muscles ached and his back felt uncomfortably stiff against the wooden chair. 

They were safe. 

They were together, for now, and that made all the difference.

\-------------------------------------

“The Dragon Queen wants to have a feast,” Sansa said from behind the desk in her chambers. She was writing a letter to her cousin Robin Arryn, to tell him of the victory and of the fallen Knights of the Vale, and to ask him, already, if they would be willing to follow her brother South to take King’s Landing when the time came. “It’s the first thing she’s said since arriving that I truly agree with. We need time to celebrate...and to forget.”

Brienne nodded from her station just within the doorframe. Her usual routine was to check in with Sansa in the morning to learn her schedule for the day and if Brienne was needed at any of the meetings or errands that she was attending to. Usually there was not, so Brienne would train with the troops until evening when she checked in with her lady again before supper. Today there’d be no training, just the piling of the dead. The cold kept the rotted smell at bay from within the halls of Winterfell, but once outside the smell stuck in their throats and stung at their eyes. The remaining Dothraki were overseeing pyres being built while as many arms that could were dragging bodies out, marking down whoever could be named, and stacking them on top. 

“It’ll be good for morale,” Brienne added, listening to the grunts and thumps just outside of Sansa’s window. The Lady of Winterfell followed her sworn sword’s eyes there.

“I imagine you’ll be going out there to help,” Sansa said, a hint of a sigh in her words.

“Of course, my lady.”

“I would order you to stay in your chambers, discard your leathers and doze beneath your furs for the entirety of the day but I know you won’t listen,” Sansa looked up at her, blue eyes meeting each other as she crossed the room to Brienne’s side. 

Brienne looked downwards, confusion toying with her features. “My Lady?”

“I wish you’d stay here with me, tell me stories of the first lady Knight, or what it was like to grow up in Tarth. My mother visited there, once. She said it was like an oasis.”

“It is quite beautiful,” Brienne said. A pull gripped at her belly, thinking of the warm sand and the high mountains and the way the sun glinted through the stained glass windows of Evenfall Hall.

Sansa took in the bruises and gashes that marked her face, knowing there were probably many more hidden beneath the heavy Northern layers she wore. “You deserve to _rest_. You’ve done so much, I can’t even begin to fathom.”

“Nobody else is resting,” Brienne said matter of factly

“Nobody else is you.” She covered Brienne’s hand with her own, squeezing her fingers. In another life maybe they would have been friends. Two highborn ladies, giggling in the solar of Evenfall over lemon cakes and tea. Sansa would blush at the boys in the training yard while Brienne knocked them to the ground. 

“Your kindness is too much, my lady.” She thought of the hot springs, the soothing feeling it truly did bring to her though she couldn’t honestly say that was from the mineral water alone. Jaime’s presence, his touch, it was just as healing. “I wouldn’t want to be seen as different though, and I would lose the men’s respect if I didn’t put in the same work as them.”

At this Sansa scoffed, “You are a highborn lady, Ser Brienne. And a knight. They should respect you even if you should shit on them.”

Brienne’s eyes widened as the girl laughed and blushes at her own vulgarity. She seems so much like the child she never got to be. “Too many Lannisters and Hounds running around here. It’s been a bad influence.” 

Sansa pulled up on her height and setting her shoulders back in a queenly stature. She knew no amount of cajoling Brienne would take her from her work, unless it was more pertinent work. “Go on then, Ser Brienne, do your duty and do them well. I hope I will see you at the feast tonight, celebrating.” She gives Brienne a final pat on the hand and a warm smile, before turning back to her desk to finish the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET FEMALE CHARACTERS BE FRIENDS WITH EACH OTHER!!!!!!!! It's literally all I ever care about. I know this chapter is a bit of "filler" but I wanted to cut here so next chapter would be the beginning of 8x04, and I have A LOT I want to cover. (and there's some smut to come, probably, definitely).
> 
> I just hate how shows don't allow secondary relationships between characters to be seen (also I'm now desperate for some kind of Sansa/Brienne bff AU where they just shit talk all the highborn lordlings so if anyone wants to give that a shot, let ya girl know).
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very into the idea of Brienne and Jaime dropping ALL pretenses and just saying each other's names without the title next episode. (PS This note is from the first chapter, I don't know why it's traveling over to chapter 2 but I also can't fix it soooooooo oh well).


End file.
